


The Christmas Spirit

by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Do not repost, F/M, do you love christmas stories about ghosts, do you love hallmark original movies about christmas ghosts, then buddy have i got the fic for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymegtargaryen/pseuds/hipgrab
Summary: Fresh-faced real estate agent Rey Johnson eagerly accepts an assignment to sell a reputedly haunted inn. By and by she meets Ben, the resident ghost who has haunted the property for the past ninety years. Rey has only one logical recourse for their mutual benefit: break the curse that binds him.If she doesn't fall in love with him first, that is.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 66
Kudos: 177





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recently watched The Christmas Spirit and fell absolutely in love with that ridiculous movie. I hope you'll get a kick out of this whether you've seen it or not.
> 
> Note: I know nothing about real estate or Vermont but apparently neither do most Hallmark writers. I'm assuming you came here for two people falling in love at Christmas and that is EXACTLY what you'll get. 
> 
> Thank you AnandaRunner for looking this over, and being my encouragement when I first spouted off the idea of this fic!

_ Christmas Eve 1929 _

Ben Solo trudges through the snowy forest, his breath fogging in the cold December air. His legs are growing numb, but still he pushes on. If he can just make it through the woods…

Up ahead, he sees lights, and he can hear the faint strings of a live band. He finds his second wind, the numbness fading from his legs as he continues on. He’s almost there. Soon he’ll be inside the place where he grew up, surrounded by his family and their friends and the people who have known him and loved him since before he was born. 

The trees start to thin and the lights grow brighter. 

“Almost there,” he whispers to himself. “Almost there, keep going, keep going…”

The Falcon Inn comes into view, framed by the pine trees his father planted so many years ago. The inn is all decorated for Christmas, wreaths and candles at each window, dancing silhouettes passing through the glowing ballroom windows. 

A sharp pain cracks against the back of his head and Ben Solo knows no more.


	2. Chapter 2

_ December 2019 _

The text notification slides across Rey’s Macbook.

_ Rose Tico _

_ Your favorite listing is back up. _

Rey immediately checks the company website, pupils dilating when she sees it.

The Falcon Inn.

The picture they’ve chosen is the one the Falcon uses in all of its advertising, lit up in the wintry dusk with Christmas decorations giving it a merry, welcoming look. It’s a beautiful picture, and almost does the place justice. 

It’s been a fascination of Rey’s for years--ever since she first moved to the lakeside town. In the early days, she’d had some notion of saving up enough money to buy the inn and run it herself. There would be no lack of visitors; this town is a tourist destination year-round, whether it’s people admiring the flowers in the spring, the beaches and boating in the summer, the changing of the leaves in the fall, or the snow and skiing in the winter. And, she’s told, the Falcon used to host a Christmas Eve ball every year that was the talk of the town. It could be that way again, Rey had thought…

Until she’d finally faced reality. She doesn’t have the money, and even if she took out a mortgage, she’d have to furnish the place and get it set up for visitors. She’d need a business partner, and no one she knows has the money or the interest in such a pursuit. So she’s decided that if she can’t have it, she’ll make sure it goes to someone who will take care of it and treat it the way it deserves.

The problem is, no one is much interested in the place. At least, not after they find out about the ghost.

Rey wouldn’t really know, because she’s never actually been inside the inn. Only the senior agents are allowed access, and Rey is still very much a junior agent. But she’s heard stories about potential buyers getting locked in rooms and scared out of their wits. One man even fell down the stairs because he claims someone pushed him. People didn’t stop talking for weeks.

Haunted or not, Rey is determined to be the agent who sells the inn, both to ensure it goes to a good owner and also to get that hefty commission--and the respect of her fellow agents. Not that they don’t respect her as a person, but they don’t take her seriously, and making a sale like the Falcon Inn…

Well, that would make them take her seriously, alright.

Amilyn passes by, heels clicking. Rey pounces out of her seat, falling into step beside the other woman. 

“Hey, Amilyn--”

Amilyn heaves a sigh. “No, Rey.”

“You don’t even know what I was about to say!”

“Yes I do. You were about to ask if you could take the Falcon.”

“Well can I?”

Amilyn sighs again as she enters her office, Rey following without invitation. The other woman sits behind her desk. 

“No, and you know why. You’re still new, Rey, and not even my senior agents have been able to sell this place.”

“Maybe you need someone new to do it,” Rey suggests. “Maybe I’m the right person.” When Amilyn looks skeptical, she continues, “Look, you  _ know _ how much I love this place; I love it more than anyone else who’s tried to sell it. Doesn’t that make me the perfect fit for the job?”

“If you had more experience, yes,” Amilyn concedes. “But that’s the thing; you  _ don’t. _ The Falcon Inn is a staple in this town; the people here will never forgive you if you bungle it, and neither will I.”

“It’s not like any of them are trying to buy the place,” Rey points out. “And I won’t bungle it. I promise. I’ll consult you about everything.”

Amilyn considers her. “I just don’t know, Rey. I mean even if you did manage to sell it, there’s a strong chance it’ll go back on the market again.”

“That’s a risk we’ll just have to take.”

Amilyn huffs out a laugh. “You really want this, don’t you?”

“I do. I really, really do,” Rey pleads. 

Amilyn shakes her head. “It’s just not doable right now.”

“Then who’s getting it?”

“Poe.”

“But you hate Poe!”

“I do not  _ hate _ him,” Amilyn insists. “I just think he needs some sensitivity training in regards to the way he talks to female authority figures, that’s all. He’s a smooth talker and he never loses a sale.”

Rey’s shoulders slump. “Right.”

“Your time will come. That time just isn’t now.”

Resigned, Rey goes back to her seat. 

_ Rey Johnson _

_ She said no :( _

_ Rose Tico _

_ Aww :(  _

Rey gives the listing one last wistful glance before clicking out of the page. She’ll get the inn. Someday.

.

When Rey gets into work the next morning, it’s to find everyone staring inside the glass walls of Amilyn’s office, where she and Poe are having a very vocal argument. Rey must have walked in on the tail end of it, because Poe throws a set of keys on the ground and storms out. Everyone immediately pretends they weren’t just watching and eavesdropping, but Poe seems oblivious to them; he storms all the way out of the office, roughly brushing past Rey as he does so.

She goes up to Rose, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Rose says honestly. “They’d been arguing for a while. At first they were just sitting in her office, but then they got angrier and angrier until they started standing up and shouting.”

“What were they shouting about?”

“Something about Poe being a sexist pig and Amilyn being incompetent at her job.”

_ “Oof.” _

“Oof is right.” Rose glances at Amilyn’s office, where the other woman is tugging at her shirt and trying to maintain her composure. “I know they don’t always get along, but that seems…intense.”

“Very.” Rey goes to her desk, where she trades her snowboots for heels and starts up her computer. She’s nearly forgotten about the odd start to her work day when Amilyn pokes her head out of her office and asks to have a word with her. Curious, Rey goes into the other woman’s office, shutting the door behind her. 

Amilyn takes a deep breath. “I’m giving you the Falcon.”

Rey stares at her, hardly able to believe her good fortune. “You...you are?”

“I am. Against my better judgment.” Amilyn gives her a strained smile. “Poe no longer works here, and since you seemed so eager...I decided to give it to you. Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you’re still new.”

“I won’t,” Rey promises, heart pounding. 

Amilyn hands over the keys--the same set of keys that Poe threw on the floor earlier. “Here you go. It’s all yours.”

Rey stares at the silver keys. 

“Rey.”

“Yeah?” she asks dizzily.

“Rey!” Amilyn laughs. “You’re practically drooling. Go on, take a look, I know you want to.”

Rey doesn’t need to be told twice. She clutches the keys as she leaves the office, light as air. 

_ I’m going to sell the Falcon. _

.

The inn looks as it always does when she passes by--old and beautiful and beckoning. Rey stares up at it as she gets out of her car, unable to believe that after years of admiring the place, she finally has access to it. She walks up the stairs, noticing the way the wood creaks, almost as if it’s inviting her in. She kicks her feet lightly against the doorframe, shaking off the snow, and with fumbling fingers, turns the key marked FD in the lock.

The door swings open, making her breath catch in her throat. The inn is  _ beautiful, _ just as she always imagined. A mahogany staircase carpeted in a faded green pattern curves up to the banister on the second floor. A grandfather clock sits in the hallway just beyond the staircase, and in the back, she sees double doors that she knows from blueprints will take her to the dining room. To her right is the reception desk, an old rotary phone hanging on the wall beside neat rows of hooks and their corresponding keys. There’s a mailbox too, cubed shelves that would have once held letters and telegrams. To her left are a set of open double doors, and beyond them is the ballroom. 

It’s all covered up now, sheets over what’s left of the furniture. A magnificent chandelier hangs from the ceiling, covered in what she’s told is real Tiffany glass. If she tries, she can imagine the place restored to its former glory, with a dais for a live band, guests bedecked in silk and furs, and the floor-to-ceiling mirrors making the room seem even larger. Against the window they would’ve had the Christmas tree, a huge pine tree covered in lights, tinsel, and ornaments that had been collected over the years, and underneath would be presents wrapped in glossy paper.

_ Someday, _ Rey thinks wistfully.

She goes to the kitchen, one of the big, old-fashioned kind with stoves that would make even Martha Stewart sweat. Beyond that is the dining room, where a long table sits covered by several sheets. There are chairs, too, real mahogany with faded yellow cushions. They’ll need reupholstering but are otherwise perfectly fine.

At the other end of the dining room is a door that leads to a lounge, what’s left of its furniture covered in sheets. Past here is the reception area; Rey walks through this up the stairs, looking up in awe as the oil paintings on the second floor come into view. They’re landscapes, mostly, scenes of nature. The doors are all closed, but Rey still pokes her head in most of them, admiring the four poster beds and the beautiful dressers that are bigger and probably costlier than her own IKEA dresser. Each room is different from the last, different colors and patterns to give each one character. How rare is it to find something like that in an age of standardized hotel rooms, each one an exact copy of the next? 

She opens the last door of the corridor, expecting to cast a cursory look over the room before heading up to the third floor, when something in the room surprises her.

Specifically, a man.

He’s  _ massive, _ not only in height but also in the sheer amount of space he takes up. He’s a specter in black coat, black slacks, black shoes, and black hair, but bright brown eyes stare down at her curiously.

She takes a fearful step back, sensing the energy radiating off of this man. “Who are you?” she asks, reaching for her phone.

He raises a hand, and all goes to black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can y'all believe we are TWO DAYS from TROS??????

When Rey wakes, it is to find herself staring up at a canopy she’s never seen before. She feels fuzzy and very slightly hungover, almost the way she feels after taking melatonin before bed. Groggy, she looks around...and realizes she’s still in the Falcon Inn. And sitting in a chair beside her bed is the man from before.

She sits up, ignoring the spots in her vision. “Who are you?”

He looks at her as if he’s never quite seen anything like her before. “The owner.”

Maybe it’s just the slight hangover, but that doesn’t make sense. “What? No. That’s not...there is no owner.”

“I’m the owner,” he insists. “And you’re my guest.”

“I’m not your guest, and you’re not the owner!” She inches towards the foot of the bed, away from this man.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

She ignores him, trying to stand, but as soon as she does, some invisible force knocks her off her feet and sends her sprawling back on the bed.

“What the--” She looks over at the man beside her. “What the hell was that?!”

He looks almost smug. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Obviously not.” She takes him in again...black hair, brown eyes, a dusting of moles across pale white skin, black coat open to reveal a three-piece suit, which is  _ weird _ , who the hell wears a three piece suit anymore? “Some serial killer who’s been squatting in the inn?”

“I’m not squatting, it’s  _ my _ inn,” he says, annoyed. 

“You keep saying that. It’s not your inn, the last person to own it put it on the market almost twenty years ago--”

“Which one was that again?”

“Unkar Plutt,” she says before she can help it.

He rolls his eyes. “Right, Plutt. Big Englishman, right?”

“Right,” she says, leery now. How does he know Unkar Plutt?

“And before that it was those brothers, what were their names…”

“Irving.” God, she needs to stop giving him information...but then, he  _ had _ known that they were brothers.

“And before that it was Gannis Ducain,” he remembers. “And before him was my family.”

“Your family?” She frowns. “I didn’t think the original owners had any surviving family.”

“They don’t,” he says grimly. 

She stares at him. “What...what are you saying?”

He smiles again. “You really can’t piece it together, can you? Maybe I knocked you out harder than I meant to. It’s been a while since I had to. After I knocked that one fellow down the stairs, people stopped coming around.”

“You--” She can feel a headache coming on. “Hang on, have you been squatting here all this time?”

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not squatting?”

Rey feels her phone buzz against her hip. Of course. Her phone. She just needs to get out of here and call the police. Slowly, she tucks her legs so that she’ll be ready to spring out of the bed. She’s already mentally mapping her course down the corridor, down the stairs, and out the front door.

“You want to go?” he asks, startling her out of her plan. “You can go. I won’t stop you.”

She hesitates, and seeing that he’s making no move to apprehend her, she leaps out of the bed, runs out of the room, down the corridor, down the stairs, and out the front door, where she gets in her car, locks the doors, and calls 911.

_ “911, what’s your emergency?” _

“Yes, hello, my name is Rey Johnson, I’m the realtor at the Falcon Inn on Kessel Run, and there’s a violent intruder!”

_ “Are you in immediate danger?” _

“No, I’m in my car, but he’s still inside!”

_ “We’re sending someone over right away.” _

.

The sheriff himself is the one to investigate. He gets out with a friendly smile, shaking Rey’s hand and introducing himself as Sheriff Calrissian. He doesn’t seem in any hurry at all, something that greatly frustrates Rey.

_ Great, _ she thinks,  _ just what I need--a sexist cop who won’t take a hysterical woman seriously. _

The sheriff goes into the house and reemerges sometime later, shaking his head. “Sorry, Miss Johnson, but nobody’s there. He must’ve gone out the back way.”

She doesn’t know how to feel about this. “Were there any signs of forced entry?”

“Oh, you watch a lot of crime shows, huh? Nope, no forced entry.”

She tries not to sound hysterical, but it’s getting hard. “How did he get in, then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he had a set of keys.”

“Keys?” Her voice is rising and she’s powerless to stop it. “You’re telling me an intruder had  _ keys _ ?”

“Might have,” the sheriff says, unconcerned.

She wants to tear out her hair. “No one else is supposed to have keys! I would know, I’m the realtor assigned to this property!”

“Well, maybe the previous owner gave him a set of keys. He said he was the owner, you told me? Maybe he knew the old one.”

She wants to cry. “The previous owner put it on the market almost twenty years ago.”

“Huh,” the sheriff says, not looking the least bit alarmed.

“What if he gets back in?” she wants to know.

“I don’t think he will.”

“But what if he does?”

“Then you just give me another call and I’ll take care of him,” he says pleasantly, and then hands her a card. “Here, this is my cell; you see anyone here, you just call me.”

Rey takes the card with something like despair. He’s the sheriff and he’s not doing anything to help her. What is she supposed to do in case that nutjob comes back? Die?

And yet…

He hadn’t stopped her when she tried to leave. Although, maybe that was more of a power play. 

Her head is spinning. She gets back in her car and pulls down the drive, heading for the office. 

But she doesn’t want to do that. If she goes to the office, she’ll have to tell Amilyn about the intruder, and Amilyn definitely won’t want her to sell the house anymore. She could go home, but that would only be delaying the inevitable.

Determined, she pulls into a parking lot, turns around, and heads back towards the inn. She  _ dares _ an intruder to fuck with her. Just in case, she grabs the mace from her purse and, as soon as she’s let herself into the building, takes off her gloves and spreads the keys in her knuckles. Quiet as can be, she checks the entire inn, peering in every room, closet, and cupboard. 

Just as the sheriff said, no one is here. The guy really must have gone out the back way. Just in case, she checks all the doors and windows, but all of them are locked from the inside, so there definitely wasn’t a forced entry. Maybe he really did have keys. But how? Unkar Plutt was the last owner, and this guy couldn’t even remember his name. Unless that was just a tactic to throw her off. But  _ why? _

She’s about to give up when her eyes catch a door in the kitchen. 

_ Oh no. _

Is she about to be that white girl that goes into the basement so soon after being knocked out by an intruder? 

But what else is she supposed to do? The sheriff wouldn’t help her, and if there really is someone getting in and out of the house, she should know about it. 

Taking a deep breath, she pulls out her phone and texts Rose.

_ If you don’t hear from me in ten minutes, call the police. I’m at the Falcon Inn. _

_???? _

_ Just do it, please. _

Rey tucks away her phone and creeps towards the door, slowly, agonizingly turning the knob. 

It’s dark down below, only a faint light illuminating the stairs. She flicks on the switch, holding her breath as the ancient bulbs light up the space. She doesn’t hear anything, or see anything either, for that matter...but still, she has to check. She knows there are windows in the basement, and if someone is getting in and out, that would be a good and inconspicuous place to do it.

She walks slowly down the stairs, looking all around. The basement is massive, spanning the size of the house, and seems to be used mainly for storage. Crates, boxes, and shelves line the walls, spare clutter gathered here and there. The windows seem intact, but still, the place gives Rey a creepy feeling. Stupidly, she calls, “Hello?”

And to her abject horror, a familiar voice responds, “Hello.”

She screams, whirling around. No one is behind her. She whirls around again, and sees the man from before giving her a bemused look. 

“Fucker!” she screams, spraying her mace at him. Or she would, but she forgot to undo the switch. Fingers fumbling, she undoes the switch and then sprays for real. She scampers up the steps as soon as she releases the nozzle, knowing the mace could get in her eyes if she gets too close and preferring to watch him suffer at a distance. 

Only, he doesn’t suffer. He just stares at her with that same bemused expression. 

“What the fuck,” she whispers, gripping the keys in her hand. 

“Was that supposed to do something?” he drawls.

“Yes! It was supposed to...blind you, I think.” She’s feeling very, very stupid. Her phone is buzzing, but she ignores it, unwilling to give this man the opportunity to hide again, or worse, knock her out again. She wants to deal with him  _ now. _

“You think,” he deadpans.

“It’s  _ mace _ !” She grips the keys so hard her knuckles turn white. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“Do all women today use such language?”

She scoffs. “You’re a squatter  _ and _ a sexist? Classy.”

“How many times,” he sighs, irritated. “I’m not a squatter.”

“No? Then why did you flee when the sheriff came?”

He actually smiles at that. “I didn’t flee.”

“Wha--yes you did! You most definitely did! He said you weren’t here!”

“He lied to you.”

Horror fills her. “He knew you were here?!” This is some bizarre horror movie shit.

He shrugs. “He’s known for years.”

She feels like screaming. “So...he was right? You have keys?”

“No.”

“N...no? Then how do you get in and out?”

His smile is almost sad. “I never leave.”

Before she can ask him what the fuck he’s talking about, a voice from upstairs calls out. 

_ The sheriff, _ Rey realizes. Is he going to help this guy...do something to her? Has this inn been a covert operation all along--

“We’re down here,” the man calls.

She scampers up the stairs, hoping she can maybe bypass the sheriff--but he’s already coming into the kitchen, blocking her only way out. She looks around wildly for some means of escape.

“Careful,” the man tells the sheriff, “she’s got something she calls  _ mace. _ ”

“Calm down now, Miss Johnson,” the sheriff says in a slow, soothing voice. “No one here is gonna hurt you.”

“No? Then why did your buddy knock me out and you lied about him still being in the house?”

The two men exchange looks. 

“Should we tell her?” the stranger asks.

“I don’t see any way around it,” the sheriff sighs.

Rey keeps the mace and keys in her hands. “What? Tell me what?”

The sheriff leans against the counter. “Well, Miss Johnson, it may be hard to believe...but Ben here is the Falcon Inn ghost.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if y'all have been keeping up with the leaks and I'm not gonna say anything but if you wanna talk find me on tumblr at kylorenaissance because I have THOTS

Rey stares between the two men.

“You’re shitting me, right?” 

“Are all women today so vulgar?” the intruder asks the sheriff.

“Oh, fuck you!”

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Sheriff Calrissian says kindly. “But Ben here really is a ghost. This was his parents’ place in the 1920s. He died here, Christmas Eve, 1929.”

“Just outside,” ‘Ben’ says.

Rey looks between them. Oddly, she thinks they’re telling the truth. But  _ how? _ How could that even be remotely possible?

“Okay,” she says, still holding her mace. “Okay. Assume...I believe you. How...do  _ you _ know about this?”

“Oh, I’ve known Ben here for years,” Sheriff Calrissian says gamely. “Can’t  _ not _ know about the ghost of Falcon Inn when you’re the sheriff. Ben and I met when I was still a young rookie; he scared me half to death.”

“You shot me.”

“I thought you were an intruder!” The sheriff gives Rey a what-can-you-do sort of look. “Guess I can’t really blame you for the mace.”

She looks between them. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly,” Ben says, lips twitching. 

“Well, at least you have a sense of humor.” She finally lowers her hands. “You’re... _ really _ a ghost?”

“‘Fraid so.” He folds his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe. God, he’s  _ so tall. _ Rey is tall, but he’s  _ so tall. _ “Died outside Christmas Eve, 1929. Came back the next year.”

“ _ Came back _ ?” 

“Well, I died, and then I was here: how else would you describe it?” he asks sardonically. 

She glances at Sheriff Calrissian, who doesn’t look fazed by any of it. “I always heard this place was haunted, but... _ really? _ ”

“Really,” Sheriff Calrissian agrees. “I know, it was crazy to me too. But you shoot a man who doesn’t even flinch, it makes you a believer.”

Rey paces up and down, staring at Ben. “So why...why are you here?”

“I died here, I assume that’s how haunting works.”

“No, I mean... _ why _ ? Why are you haunting this place?”

He looks confused by the question. “Because...I died here?”

“I’m sure others have died here,” she points out. “But you’re the only ghost. Why you? Did you have...unfinished business or something?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.”

She huffs. “Well  _ something _ is keeping you here and preventing you from crossing over to the other side.”

“The other side?” Ben repeats. “You truly believe that?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. But haven’t you ever wondered? Why it was your soul wasn’t...at peace?”

With perhaps more seriousness than she’s heard all day, he looks away and says, “More times than you can imagine.”

“Well, don’t you want to figure it out?”

“Why?”

“Why? So you can stop being a ghost! So you can go...be at peace! In the afterlife or wherever it is people go when they die!”

“Are you a realtor or a medium?”

“Both, when the occasion calls for it,” she retorts before she can stop herself. “Look, my boss told me to sell this house, and if I don’t, no one at the firm will take me seriously, and I’m not going to sell this place if there’s a  _ ghost _ living in it.”

“Technically I’m not  _ living _ …”

She could tear out her hair.

“I  _ think _ what the lovely lady is saying,” Sheriff Calrissian intercedes, “is that your presence here creates some...problems, Ben.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly  _ ask _ to haunt this place,” Ben says, irritated. 

“No, but  _ something _ is keeping you here.” Rey paces up and down again. “1929, you said? That was ninety years ago. Maybe it’s a curse or something?”

“Curses aren’t real.”

“Right, because  _ that _ would be crazy!” She throws her hands in the air. “You’re a ghost, for Christ’s sake!”

Sheriff Calrissian chuckles. “She’s got you there.”

“You’re sure there’s  _ nothing _ ?” she wheedles. “No secret inheritance or murder most foul?”

The temperature in the room drops several degrees.

“Well, clearly it was a murder,” Ben says, his voice as cold as the room. “Healthy thirty-year-olds don’t just drop dead of their own accord.”

“Okay,” she says, excited. “So it was murder. That gives us something. Do you know what happened? Who did it?”

The room gets even colder. 

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t?” she asks, rubbing her hands together for warmth. 

“I don’t remember how I died, only that I did.” The glass in the cabinets starts rattling, and with an angry sound, Ben disappears.

She turns to Sheriff Calrissian, stunned. “What…?”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” the sheriff says gently. “I know, I’ve tried. Hell, half of why I became a cop was because I loved murder mysteries. Always wanted to be a detective, but never quite got there.”

“You think I’m right, though, don’t you?” she presses. “That something’s keeping him here? Probably related to his murder?”

“Probably,” he agrees. “But there’s nothing I can do if he doesn’t want to talk about it.” 

Rey’s phone buzzes for the millionth time, and she finally glances down to a string of worried texts and missed call notifications from Rose. “Oh shit,” she mutters, typing up a quick reply.

“Your friend was worried about you.”

“Yeah, I told her to call the police if she didn’t hear from me in ten minutes. Didn’t have a lot of faith in you after you checked the place over.” She gives him a grin that’s half-guilty, half-impish.

He chuckles. “Can’t blame you for that. I just didn’t think you were ballsy enough to come  _ back. _ ”

“Well, it’s like I said, I have to sell this place or I’ll never be taken seriously.” She sighs. “What am I going to do? This place has been on the market for years, even if I got Ben to... _ behave, _ he’d probably be miserable with people here.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think Ben’s terribly lonely.”

The honesty in his voice surprises Rey. “You do?”

“Well, he’s been dead for ninety years; any friends or family he had are long dead.The only person who knows he exists is me. Well, and the people spreading the ghost stories, but he doesn’t want to befriend any of them.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Truth be told, I was surprised when he told me what happened. He likes to scare people sometimes, but he’s never made one his...what did he call it? His  _ guest. _ ”

For some reason, Rey’s cheeks grow warm. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty special like that.”

Sheriff Calrissian barks with laughter. “Guess you must be. You know, I think you might be the first person he’s taken a genuine interest in...and the first person to take a genuine interest in him. Maybe you will figure this out, Miss Johnson.”

“Oh, please, Rey is fine.”

“And you can call me Lando,” he tells her. 

“Alright, Lando.”

“And let me know if I can do anything to help,” he adds. “I’ve known Ben, hell, forty years now. He’s one of my oldest friends, and I’d do anything to see him...I don’t know, moved on or at peace or whatever you called it.”

“I will.” But she doesn’t even know where she herself is going to start. How do you help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?

.

She spends hours at the library, poring over articles about the death of Ben Solo and the Falcon Inn. Even after the librarians kick her out, she makes a hasty Lean Cuisine and sits in front of her computer at home, researching.

What she finds is more to the story than she’d realized, but not enough to make sense. When the inn was built and who built it are all questions that are never answered; all Rey learns on that front is that a former soldier named Han Solo bought the inn in the late 1800s and later married a local heiress named Leia Skywalker. Together, they ran the inn, and in 1899 they welcomed into the world a son, Benjamin Solo. 

Photographs and society columns paint a picture for Rey. Leia the heiress, Han, her socially scandalous match, and Ben, their son who never seemed to quite fit in. Once in a while Leia’s brother would appear, an academic named Luke who seemed to prefer sabbaticals to social gatherings.

In the twenties, however, Ben stops appearing in the photographs and society columns. The photographs of Leia and Han become more strained, with a word or two printed about the tense atmosphere at the Falcon’s yearly Christmas Eve ball. Something happened...Rey just doesn’t know what.

And then she reaches 1929, where the articles flood in. All speak of the coldblooded (and unsolved) murder of Ben Solo less than a hundred yards from the inn, Ben Solo who had not been heard from in years, had not even told his parents he was planning to come home for Christmas. Reports circulate of him in Canada and Chicago, and speculation is heavy that he was engaging in that most illegal and most revered art of the Prohibition: bootlegging. 

Even months later, the newspapers keep referring to the murder. They refer to other things, too: the Solos moving out of town while the inn passes to Leia’s brother, Luke. The Christmas Eve balls become parties, and then small gatherings, until they stop altogether. Fewer and fewer guests stay in the inn, until it is an inn in name only. The talk of the town is that a malevolent spirit resides there, but Luke refuses to entertain such notions. When he dies twenty-five years after his nephew, the trust sells the inn to Gannis Ducain, and the rest is history.

Armed with this knowledge, Rey goes to the inn in the morning. She opens the door with a feeling of trepidation and pushes past it to call, “Ben? Are you here?”

He appears beside her in a flash. “Where else would I be?”

She swears at his sudden appearance. “Good point, I guess.” She kicks the door shut behind her and carries her laptop into the dining room. He watches, bemused, as she sets about turning on the heat and dusting off the table and a chair or two. Thus warmed and ready, she opens her laptop and decides to get right down to business.

“So you were a bootlegger.”

He smiles, taking the seat across from her. “I prefer the term rum-runner...but yes.”

“When did this start?”

He leans back in his chair. “Almost as soon as Prohibition began. It was my father’s idea at first.”

She types this in her notes with fascination. “Your father? Han Solo?”

“Yes, Han Solo. He was a smuggler in his youth, years before he even met my mother. That’s why their marriage was so disrespectable, you see; everyone knew he had...a past. And for my mother, the princess herself, to marry a scoundrel like him…” He shrugs. “Her reputation never fully recovered.”

Rey tries to picture it, the society princess falling in love with the smuggler. “How did they meet?”

He smiles again. “He crashed her debutante ball.”

Rey finds herself laughing. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yeah. He knew my uncle, who was mad he had to come to his sister’s ball, so he got my father to come along. He got drunk and made an ass out of himself. Mom claims she hated him from the start, but I think she secretly liked him. Two years later they were married, and nine months after that, they had me.”

Rey props her chin in the palm of her hand. “Your dad seems like quite a character.”

“He was.” There’s a tinge of sadness in Ben’s voice. “He really was.”

“So how did a renowned smuggler come to own an inn in Vermont?”

Ben actually laughs. “He won it in a game of poker.”

Her mouth drops open. “ _ No. _ ”

“Yes. Truth be told, I think he bought it to impress a different woman, but nothing ever came of that. He liked it here, though. He didn’t have a good childhood, and he was always on the run, always trying to find the next thing. His parents died when he was young, and then he went to an orphanage, and then he joined the navy. He doesn’t talk about that period a lot; I don’t think military life agreed with him. As soon as his two years were up, he joined a smuggling ring, and he stayed with them until he won the inn in that poker game.”

Rey shakes her head. “He lived quite a life.”

“He did.”

“And he chose to stay here, in this sleepy town?”

Ben shrugs. “Like I said, he didn’t have a good childhood. I think he liked it here because it was the first place he didn’t have to be on the run.”

Rey hesitates. “So why did he start...rum-running?”

Ben sighs, the smile gone. “He wasn’t used to staying still for so long. He was a smuggler, and when he got wind of the rum-running trade out of Montreal, he saw a chance and he took it. We didn’t need the money or anything, but it gave him something to do. Until it became too much.”

“Too much?”

He sighs again, shifting. “We got entangled with...the wrong sorts of people. Dad was smart enough to get out before it got bad.” His smile has no humor in it. “I wasn’t.”

Rey listens, fascinated. “Like...gangsters?”

“Gangsters. One, in particular.” He looks away. “Everyone called him Sidious.”

“Sidious?” The name sounds ridiculous...until Rey says it aloud. It clings to her, crawling down her spine and making her shiver. 

“His real name was Sheev Palpatine.”

“ _ Sheev _ ?”

“Well, none of us  _ called _ him that. But, yes. He was a politician...and a crook.”

“Most politicians are crooked anyway,” she mutters.

“Well, yes. But he simultaneously pushed for Prohibition legislation while also muscling his way to the top of the bootlegging industry. I was just a rum-runner with my father, until Sidious offered us more work. Better work. Better paying work.” He splays his hands as if to say  _ what can you do? _ “I was young and eager to cut my teeth. Dad wasn’t. He settled down again in Vermont, and I took on more work. I was still rum-running, but I was also a go-between, passing along messages. Sometimes he asked me to deliver threats.”

Rey holds her breath, unable to believe what she’s hearing. She’s talking to the ghost of a real 1920s gangster who ran rum and threatened people.

“Did you ever...you know?” She gives him a meaningful look. “Take anyone out?”

He cocks his head to the side. “What do you think?”

Unbidden, a shiver crawls down her spine. 

“Does that scare you?” he asks in a low voice.

“No.”

He tilts his head. “It excites you.”

“No,” she says again, cheeks flushing. “Tell me about the night you died.”

The temperature drops. “What’s there to tell? I died, the end.”

“Except  _ not _ the end, because you’re still here,” she points out. “What were you doing? You hadn’t been back in years. Why Christmas Eve 1929?”

He stands abruptly. “That doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does,” she plows ahead, ignoring the cold anger in his voice and on his face. “You were murdered, you said so yourself. What if it had to do with the reason you were coming home?”

“What if it didn’t?” he counters.

“But what if it  _ did _ ?”

A glass in the cabinet shatters and Rey winces. Okay. So maybe now is not the best time to press Ben about his past. 

“We’re done here,” he says, straightening his jacket.

She looks up at him in dismay, but she knows better than to press her luck. “Okay.” She closes her laptop and rises slowly. “I should get to the office anyway. I’ll, um...see you later?”

He stares at her for a long moment before finally inclining his head. “Later.”

“Later,” she echoes, and then gathers up her things, head down. When she heads for the front door, he follows her, his footsteps eerie and creaking. 

“Rey,” he says when she reaches for the doorknob, and she sucks in a breath. That’s the first time he’s ever said her name...and she’ll be damned if it doesn’t send a shiver through her. Not a bad shiver, either, not the way she’d shivered when he told her Sidious’s name or told her he’d killed men. No, this is something else entirely.

“Yes?” she asks, rather more breathless than she’d intended.

He looks at her for a long moment and then shakes his head. “Come back soon.”

“Okay,” she squeaks, and launches herself out the door. It isn’t until she’s in her car, staring up at the inn, that she wonders: does she have the hots for a  _ ghost? _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm seeing TROS tonight and I am NOT READY y'all

Rey starts spending every evening at the Falcon Inn, listening to Ben talk about his life. She’s fascinated by the stories from his childhood--and by his past as a bootlegger. Or  _ rum-runner, _ as he insists on calling it--as if that makes the profession so much more respectable.

But it isn’t just Ben talking; he seems fascinated by Rey, someone born over sixty years after he died. He asks her all sorts of questions: what does she do for a living, what does she think about things he lived through, is it true that men walked on the moon, can you  _ really _ buy liquor just  _ anywhere _ now? 

She’s happy to answer his questions...until he asks about her life before coming to the States. 

“That’s a closed subject,” she says firmly...and Ben, to her relief, doesn’t press the matter. 

She doesn’t even think about selling the inn...until Amilyn comes by her desk over a week after assigning her the Falcon. 

“So?” she asks with an unreadable smile. “How’s the selling going?”

“Oh...great,” Rey lies, more because she’s surprised than anything. She honestly hasn’t even thought about selling the inn, so preoccupied has she been with the novelty of the ghost. 

“Great. Any bites yet?”

_ You know damn well there haven’t been. _ But Rey smiles. “Yeah, I actually...I had an idea for an open house...I need to check on a few things before I say anything definite but...I think it’s gonna be good.”

That throws Amilyn, who was clearly expecting Rey to have difficulty with the assignment. “Well that’s great. Really! Keep me, uh, updated!”

“I will,” Rey says sweetly...but internally, she’s panicking. How is she going to have an open house when it’s haunted?

.

When she goes over to the inn that evening, she takes her usual spot in the armchair in the lounge (where she and Ben sit more often than not) and takes a deep breath. “I need to ask for a favor.”

He regards her with a raised eyebrow. “Okay.”

“I need to host an open house here. Some kind of event for potential buyers to see the inn as it could be and not...not an abandoned building nobody wants.”

His face is unreadable. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

She takes another deep breath, clasping her hands. “I thought...it would be great if we could host a Christmas Eve ball, just like the ones your family used to throw every year. It could be 1920s themed to ring in the new year, people love that sort of thing. They could see what this place is capable of.”

Ben regards her for a long moment. Finally, he says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” she asks, hardly daring to believe her luck. 

“Okay, but on one condition.”

“Anything,” she says eagerly. 

Now it’s his turn to take a deep breath. Is he really breathing, she wonders, or is it more reflex than anything? “If you can’t help me...cross over, or whatever it is you’re trying to do, then whoever buys the inn...they have to get my approval first.”

She considers. “What if the highest bidder is someone you don’t like?”

“Then I’ll make them and you regret selling it.”

He’s definitely capable of it. She bites her lip before nodding. “Okay. Deal.” She holds out her hand to shake, then hesitantly withdraws it. “Can you...shake?”

His smile is almost sad. “No. I can’t really touch people. It just feels like a shiver to them.”

“Oh. Well, we’ll metaphorically shake, then.”

“Metaphorically shake,” he agrees, his smile looking more genuine. 

“So,” she says, getting out her laptop to make notes. “Tell me how you died.”

“Rey,” he says with warning in his tone. 

“Well, how are we supposed to help you cross over if you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Maybe I don’t  _ want _ to cross over,” he says, and immediately looks as if he regrets saying that.

She stares at him. “You don’t?”

He looks away. “I didn’t  _ say _ that.”

“I mean, you basically did.” She tilts her head. “Why not?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you--”

“For someone who won’t talk about their own past, you’re certainly very nosy about other peoples’.”

“I’m not the dead one,” she points out.

Ben rises. “I think we’re done for tonight.”

Rey stares up at him. “Already?”

“Already,” he says with just a touch of coolness. 

She bites her lip, putting her things away. “Okay, well...see you later, I guess.” She shoulders her bag, heading meekly for the door. She’s halfway there when she stops, turning to look at Ben. “You know, I’ve always loved this place.”

He looks at her curiously.

“I really have. Ever since I moved here, I used to just...drive by all the time and imagine buying it. I used to imagine what all the rooms would look like and what I’d serve for dinner. I used to imagine the different people that would come in in the different seasons. It took a while before I realized I’d never have enough to buy it.” She takes a deep breath. “I love this place so much, Ben. I want to see it go to a good person, someone who will take care of it.” Her voice catches. “I wish you trusted me.” And with that, she leaves the inn, wondering if she’ll ever uncover the mystery of who killed Ben Solo.

.

Rey runs the 1920s Christmas Eve ball by Amilyn, who gives her surprised but delighted approval. 

“That old place hasn’t had a Christmas Eve party in years,” she muses. “I think that’s just the thing to breathe some life back into it.”

Life, Rey thinks, is exactly what that place needs. 

She starts a shopping list for decorations, snacks, and libations to make it a grand party. She leaves the guest list to Amilyn, who knows all the big shots around town and a lot of potential buyers--hopefully one of them will be up to Ben’s standards. Assuming Rey hasn’t found a way to make him cross over by then.

She’s still determined on that front, which is why the next time she comes over to the inn, she brings a bottle of Jack Daniels with her.

“Game time,” she declares, setting down the bottle on the dining room table. “Truth or drink. We ask each other questions that have previously been off-topic. If we don’t answer, we take a drink.”

He sits back in his chair, intrigued. “I can’t drink.”

“Can’t you, like, hover over it and taste it?”

He frowns at her. “Why would you think that?”

She flushes. “Um. Hrpr.”

“What was that?”

“ _ Harry, _ um... _ Harry Potter. _ ”

“ _ Harry Potter? _ ” he repeats. “Isn’t that the children’s book series about a wizard?”

“How do you know about  _ Harry Potter? _ !”

“I live in a haunted inn, not under a rock.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, well--”

“No drink,” he says, surprising her. “Truth or truth. That’s it.”

“You sure? What if I ask a question you don’t want to answer?”

He shrugs. “You’ll have to answer one that you don’t want to answer.”

She considers that. That seems fair enough. “Alright.” She eases into her seat. “So.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “Why were you going home on Christmas Eve?”

He rests his head on the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Honestly...I’d gotten in too deep with Sidious. He asked things of me I thought I could handle...but they split my spirit to the bone. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. I just kept seeing…” He trails off.

“What did you see?” she whispers.

He swallows. “Their eyes. I saw their eyes as the life spilled out of them. I couldn’t keep doing it. And Christmas was coming up and Sidious was entertaining at his home and I thought...I thought I could get away, just for a bit. Just long enough to rest and figure out what I was doing next. I hadn’t been home for Christmas in years, and I missed my parents. So I skipped out on an assignment and made my way south to Vermont. I’d spend Christmas with them, and then after...I’d figure out where to go. What to do.” He straightens up, looking at her. “My turn to ask.”

She pours herself a glass of Jack Daniels. “Alright.”

“We aren’t drinking.”

“I am, if I have to talk about my past.” She takes a long swig. “Alright. Go.”

He studies her. “Tell me about your family.”

“That isn’t a question.”

“Who were your family, then?”

She takes another swig. “Honestly...I don’t really know. I was very young when they...when they gave me up. They were junkies. It was all they cared about.”

He looks at her with concern. “They gave you up?”

She shakes her head. “That’s another question.”

He purses his lips, looking irritated but resigned. “Fine.”

She considers her next question carefully. She doesn’t want to ask too much too soon or he’ll want to quit the game. She has to ease him into it. “Were you afraid? To see your parents at all?”

That takes him aback. “Afraid? Well...I suppose a little. I hadn’t seen them in a few years. My dad knew what I was doing, and she never said, but I suspect my mom did, too. But more than afraid...I think I was just eager to get home.” He clears his throat. “Your turn.”

“Shoot,” she says, trying to sound readier than she feels.

“What happened? With your parents?”

She takes a deep breath, and now it’s her turn to rest her head on the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling. “When I was six, they sold me. I mean literally sold me for drugs. Methadone, I think it was. The guy they sold me to used me as part of his operation. People would pay him and I’d show up at their houses. The police weren’t looking for a six-year-old girl distributing heroin, you know?” She smiles wryly. “Got away with it for a few years, but eventually a social worker found out and I got moved into foster care.” She clears her throat. “So. What’s the last thing you remember the night you died?”

He sighs gustily. “Honestly...I don’t really remember anything. I...I remember I saw the inn through the woods. And then suddenly there was this sharp pain in the back of my head, and then...nothing. I was dead. I’m sure Lando’s pulled the coroner’s report for you.”

He has, and she knows exactly what it says: blunt force trauma to the back of the skull, fracturing it instantly, victim died upon impact. Murder weapon was never found, but the coroner suspects it was a brick. 

The real question is, though: who would want to kill Ben? The vengeful friend or family member of a loved one he had killed? A rival bootlegger who wanted to send a message to Sidious? Someone on the Falcon property who thought he was an intruder? 

“The woods,” she realizes. “You came up the back way, then?”

He nods. “Yes. I didn’t want to be seen.”

“Why not?”

“That was two questions.” He leans forward. “What happened after you went into foster care?”

Rey looks away. “I went in and out of foster homes. No one wanted to adopt me. One family came close, but...they got pregnant and didn’t want a non-biological child.” She grimaces. “I finally just aged out of the system. I moved to New York, like every dumb eighteen-year-old in the world. Worked a few bad jobs, paid way too much in rent money for a room the size of a closet. Then my friend Finn got into a program here and I was tired of the city by that point so I came with him.” She splays out her hands as if to say  _ ta-da _ . “Now I’m here.”

He considers her. “And what made you stay?”

“I love it here,” she says honestly. “I’ve always lived in cities, and out here it’s so peaceful. Beautiful. I didn’t know there was so much green in the galaxy.”

The look he gives her is pitying, which she hates, so she moves on to the next question.

“Why didn’t you want to be seen?”

“I knew you were gonna get to that.” He leans back in his chair. “I didn’t want Sidious to find out where I was.”

“How would he have known? Didn’t you say he was entertaining for Christmas? And  _ don’t _ say that’s two questions, because it’s really one.”

“It’s  _ three _ ,” he says with a wry smile on his face. “But...he had eyes and ears everywhere. I wanted to disappear. Not go home for Christmas, not take a trip, just...disappear completely. I didn’t want him to trace my steps or figure out where I was last seen. And if anyone knew I was going to Vermont, then he’d come after my family, and I didn’t want that. So I left quietly and covered my tracks. Now. What’s Finn to you?”

She blinks at him, so taken aback by this question. “Finn? He’s my best friend.”

“ _ Just _ a friend?”

She rolls her eyes. “ _ Yes _ , just a friend. I know, people always think we’re dating, but we’re not.”

He tilts his head. “Are you...dating  _ anyone _ ?”

“Me? No.” She pours more Jack Daniels into her glass. “I have this fun thing called abandonment issues. I’m always afraid people are going to abandon me, so I push them away before they get the chance to hurt me.” She finger guns. “Alright, that was two, so I get two.”

“Shoot,” he deadpans. 

She takes a deep breath. “How did you...become a ghost?”

He considers her. “I don’t know. It was like...I was waking up, but very slowly. I was aware of time passing, but unaware of it at the same time. I knew I was dead, but at the same time, I felt as if I was still alive. I was between places, until one day I wasn’t. I didn’t...wake up, not really, but it felt like I did. I became painfully aware of my existence as a ghost, I knew that one year had passed and I had died, I knew that I was alone...and that I would be tethered to this place forever.”

Rey shivers. 

“You have another question. Go on.”

She can’t believe how accommodating he’s being; she wonders how long it will last. “Why are you afraid to cross over?”

He looks angry for a moment...and then his shoulders sag. “Because...when I cross over...I don’t know what will happen. I never believed in Heaven or Hell. What will happen to me? Will I ever see my family again? Will they even want to see me?”

Rey gapes at him. “But, they’re your family, why wouldn’t they want to see you?”

He looks away. “I’m not the person they thought I was. I killed people. Tortured them. I was a bad person. If I see them now...they’ll know. I can’t hide it from them. Will they even want to see me again after that?”

“Of course they will,” she says softly. “You’re their son, how could they not want to see you again after so long apart?”

He shakes his head. “Your parents abandoned you; why wouldn’t mine abandon me?”

She swallows. “Because your parents loved you from the start. I don’t think mine ever did.” She looks down at her glass of Jack Daniels, the amber liquid sweet and sickening all at once. “It took me so long to realize that. That it wasn’t a matter of them loving me and not able to care for me, of them promising to come back for me...that they just...didn’t love me.” A tear rolls down her cheek. “I always feel...so alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he murmurs, his own eyes bright.  _ Can ghosts cry too? _

She swallows. “Neither are you.” She hesitates, and then reaches across the table. Logically, she knows she shouldn’t be able to touch him; he’s told her as much. When he’s tried to touch people in the past, all they’ve felt is a cold spot. He was only able to carry her that time and push that man down the stairs another because he can manipulate the air, but he himself cannot touch humans.

_ But what if he can? _

She doesn’t know why, but she feels sure that she’ll feel  _ something _ . Something more than a cold spot.

Ben, to her surprise and pleasure, also reaches forward...until his hand is touching hers. Not air, but his hand, his flesh against hers, warm and flooded with life. 

They both gasp, their bright eyes searching one another’s. 

The front door opens, but they don’t let go until they see Lando coming into the dining room. They pull apart, Rey wiping her eyes. 

“What’s going on?” Lando asks jovially.

“Just chatting,” Rey says. 

“Getting excited for the Christmas Eve ball? I know I am.” Lando takes a seat at the table. “It’ll be more fun than the station office party, I’ll tell you that much.”

Truth be told, Rey is excited for the Christmas party, if only to give her something to do on Christmas Eve. She won’t have to think about not having a family or any support system beyond Finn and Rose if she’s surrounded by people dressed up and having a good time. Christmas Day will still be its usual, miserable self, but maybe if she drinks enough after the party, she can sleep through most of it. 

“It should be good,” Rey says. “Lots of people are coming. Lots of potential buyers.”

“Good! Hopefully one of them will bite...and Ben won’t bite back,” Lando jokes.

Ben rolls his eyes.

“You sure your family won’t miss you or anything?” Lando asks her. “It being Christmas Eve and all?”

Rey looks down at her glass again. “Uh, no. I don’t really...I don’t really have family.”

“Friends, then?”

Rey clears her throat. “None that are...available on Christmas.”

Lando frowns. “But you gotta have someone.”

“Nope.” She forces a smile. “I’m all alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Ben says for the second time that night, frowning. “Rey, spend Christmas here. I can’t give you any gifts,” he adds, apologetic. “But at least you wouldn’t be alone.”  _ At least I wouldn’t be alone. _

Rey opens her mouth...and then smiles. “That sounds nice, actually.”

Lando glances between the two of them, a slow smile creeping over his face. “It sure does,” he says. “It sure does.” 

.

When Rey and Lando leave for the night, she waits until they’re out of the house to lean against her car and turn to the older man. “I don’t know how else to help him.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be helped,” Lando points out, leaning against his own car.

“How could he not want help? Everyone wants help.”

“Not Ben.” He shakes his head. “I think he just wants...to be seen.”

“Seen?”

“Seen. Heard. Noticed. He doesn’t want to fade until he’s forgotten. If he crosses over, that’s just what’ll happen. I’ll die someday, and then you, and then no one will remember him, not ever.”

The thought makes her feel unfathomably sad. “Poor Ben,” she murmurs. “He should have had a second chance.”

“He should have,” Lando agrees. He opens his car door. “Get home safe, Rey.”

“Yeah,” she says faintly, reaching for handle of her own car door. Somehow, the prospect of going to her shabby apartment doesn’t feel nearly as enticing as going back into the inn. 


	6. Chapter 6

One day, it’s a couple weeks away from Christmas, and the next, it’s suddenly December 23rd. Rey buys a hasty Secret Santa gift from Walgreens on her lunch break and passes it off to Kaydel, who’s none the wiser. She and Finn go over to Rose and Paige’s house for dinner, and Rey and Paige excuse themselves to the kitchen to wash dishes when it seems like Finn and Rose are getting along  _ extra _ well. She goes to bed that night with a mental to-do list of all the things she has to take care of the next day in order for the party to be a hit.

She spends most of the morning and early afternoon decorating the inn; Amilyn had hired cleaners to make the space presentable for such a big party, and with the dust and cobwebs out of the way, some garlands and ribbon are all the inn needs to really shine.

Ben watches her, bemused. “You’re really into Christmas, aren’t you?”

“I never decorate for it,” she admits from the top of a ladder, where she’s attempting to deck the halls with boughs of holly. “It’s depressing when you live alone. Now I finally have an excuse.”

He’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks, it’s soft and tender. “You really love this place, don’t you?”

She glances down at him, but only for a second; she doesn’t want to fall off the ladder and join him in the ghost-world. “I told you I did.”

“I guess I didn’t realize how much. I guess I thought you just loved it from the outside, but that you didn’t realize the work it would take on the inside. Now, though…”

“How could I not love this place?” She leans back, frowning. “Do the halls look...sufficiently decked?”

“Oh, I’d say so.”

“Then don we now our gay apparel.” She climbs down the ladder, dusting off her hands. “I’m going to shower and change. I got this dress off Amazon, so don’t judge too hard when you see it.”

He quirks his lips. “I’m sure it will look lovely on you.”

For some reason, that makes Rey blush. She ducks past him, heading up the stairs and into the room she’s claimed as hers--the same room where she woke up on a four-poster bed not so long ago.

She uses a rare hair dryer and curlers to induce Marcel waves, and, satisfied with the result, she applies dark eye makeup and ruby-red lipstick to match her dress. It’s a pretty thing that she did indeed get off Amazon, all red silk and black beadwork with long black fringe hanging from the hem. She has a black feather headband, black elbow-length gloves, and black heels to match. Looking over her reflection and deciding she looks really good, actually, she makes for the stairs.

She can hear Lando’s voice floating up from the ballroom, where the victrola is playing an upbeat, jazzy number. For a moment, she can almost pretend she’s a guest at the Falcon Inn, descending the mahogany staircase to the annual Christmas Eve ball.

Ben comes out of the ballroom, his eyes flickering up and widening when he sees her. She flushes, wondering if he thinks she looks stupid in her flapper getup. Did women even really dress like this in the twenties? She’d tried to be accurate, but maybe she missed the mark completely--

“You look,” he says when she reaches the bottom, “absolutely stunning.”

She flushes even harder. “Really? It’s not...too fake or...too much?”

He shakes his head vehemently. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He clears his throat, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

She smiles and takes his arm, letting him lead her into the ballroom.

Lando looks up at them and smiles. 

.

The ball is a hit. Notable members of the community as well as interested buyers from the nearby areas show up in their Roaring Twenties best, carrying plastic guns and feather boas. The booze flows freely as hired bartenders mix specialty drinks, and those who feel brave enough dance to the music. Rey had wanted a live band, but it simply hadn’t been in the budget.

_ Another time, maybe, _ she thinks wistfully.

She greets all of the guests in the foyer, shaking hands and trying to remember faces and names. Amilyn, thankfully, is by her side for most of it, telling her who is who. 

“I gotta say, Rey,” she says, looking around in admiration, “this was a fantastic idea. Way better than the office party we throw every year, and you’ve found a way to breathe some life back into this old place. I hope whoever buys it throws some parties like this.”

The door opens and a redheaded man enters, handing his crisp black peacoat to the coat check located by reception.

“That’s Armitage Hux,” Amilyn whispers. “He’s  _ very _ interested in the property.”

Rey straightens up. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Seems really interested in the original owners--I’m sure you know all about their son, the one who died here.”

Rey glances at Ben, who’s lingering in a corner, watching the dancing with a wry look. “Yeah, I know all about him.”

“Make sure you schmooze this guy--I think he might make an offer.”

So when he comes over to shake hands, Rey makes sure to do just that, chatting and laughing even when he hasn’t said anything particularly funny.

“Can I get you a drink?” she offers. “It’s an open bar, so it’s on me.”

“A drink would be lovely,” he says with a smile. “And I’d love if you could show me more of the property--I’ve never been.”

“Of course!” Rey gets him a watered down Scotch at his request and takes him on a basic tour of the downstairs. He does seem very interested, asking lots of questions about the property. Mostly, he seems interested in the acreage and recent renovations, though there haven’t been any.

“How fascinating,” he says. “So the inn is just as it was when the original owners sold it.”

“Pretty much,” she admits. “Obviously the inside has been modernized in terms of plumbing, heating, air conditioning, and so on, but other than that, no major changes.”

“That’s so rare to find these days, don’t you think?” he says, looking out the dining room window. There’s nothing but snow, and beyond that, the dark woods where Ben died so many years ago. “Everyone wants to modernize, to make everything newer and better. It’s so rare to find a property like this left untouched.”

“It’s very rare,” she agrees. “This place is so beautiful, almost exactly as the original owners left it. It--”

“Rey.”

She looks up to see Ben standing in the doorway, his dark eyes flashing. The temperature drops several degrees, goosebumps erupting on her arms and legs.

“Ben,” she says, shivering. “This is Armitage--”

“Hux,” he finishes for her, eyes narrowing.

Armitage Hux frowns. “Sorry, have we met?”

Ben takes a step closer. The lights flicker, and the room grows so cold that the window begins to frost from the inside. “You were named for your grandfather.”

“Yes,” Armitage Hux says, surprised. “Good god, what’s happening in here, this place is freezing!”

Rey looks between the two, unsure of what’s happening but knowing it’s important all the same.

“You look just like him,” Ben says quietly. “He was a slimy, weasel-faced snake too.”

Armitage Hux scowls. “How dare you?”

“Easily.” A chair zooms towards Hux; he leaps out of the way just in time. 

“Ben!” Rey shouts, afraid. “What’s going on?”

“Ask him,” Ben says coldly. “Ask him why he’s really here.”

Hux stares at him for a long moment...and then he smirks. “Was it that obvious?”

“Like I said, your grandfather was a slimy, weasel-faced snake, too.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” To Rey’s shock and horror, Hux pulls out a handgun and holds it up to her head, unlocking the safety. “I won’t even waste my time asking  _ you _ where it’s hidden; I highly doubt one of Amilyn’s vapid little realtors would know.”

“Know what?” Rey asks, heart pounding.

“Let her go,” Ben says, and the lights flicker so badly that one of the bulbs bursts.

“You clearly know something I don’t,” Hux says in a bored tone. “So where is it? Tell me, and I’ll let this airhead go.”

Ben stares at him...and then his eyes widen, and Rey knows he’s understood something. “It was him,” he realizes. “Your grandfather...he was looking for it.”

“Looking for  _ what _ ?” Rey demands, yelping when Hux presses his gun against her temple. 

“Ben Solo’s fortune,” the redhead sneers. “Sidious paid his men in gold bricks, and no one took on more paid jobs than Ben Solo. Sidious favored him, I’ll never know why, over my own grandfather, who would have killed for him. Who  _ did _ kill for him.”

The pieces click into place. “Your grandfather,” she breathes. “He’s the one who killed Ben Solo.”

“Maybe you’re not as airheaded as I thought,” Hux says in a voice that indicates otherwise. “Tell me, does your friend know where Solo buried his gold before he deserted?”

“You’ll never find out.” A sudden force sends Hux flying across the room. He fires the gun before his back slams against the wall, but the bullet passes cleanly through Ben. Hux sprawls on the floor, fumbling for his gun. A gunshot on the floor makes his hand recoil; it takes a long moment for Rey to realize that it wasn’t Hux’s gun that went off, but Lando’s. The sheriff keeps his gun aimed at Hux, who has the good sense to raise his hands in the air. 

Others are pressing at the doorway, eyes wide as they try to figure out what happened. Rey is trembling despite her best efforts not to, and Ben wraps a warm, sturdy arm around her shoulders. 

“Sorry about that,” he says to the crowd while Lando gives Hux his Miranda rights and cuffs him. “Just a bit of excitement, everything’s okay.”

Amilyn steps up, ushering the guests back to the ballroom, where she cranks up the jazz music and shuts the doors so no one will see Lando’s deputies arrive to help him cart away the redhead. 

“Are you okay?” Ben demands as soon as he and Rey are alone. 

She nods shakily. “Are  _ you _ ?”

He hesitates. “Oddly, yes. There’s a certain...relief to knowing now. Ninety years of me afraid to know, and now…it was Hux the whole time. I can’t believe I didn’t think of him sooner.”

“You knew him?”

“Unfortunately.” Ben frowns. “We both worked for Sidious. Hux was always trying to advance in the ranks, gain more respect and responsibility. He hated that I kept my head down and got more jobs and more pay even when I wasn’t trying. I didn’t think he hated it enough to kill me, though.”

Rey hesitates. “Ben?” His arm is still around her shoulders, warmth radiating off of him. She resists the urge to lean in.

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the gold? Do you still not trust me?”

His arm slides from her shoulders, but before she can miss the warmth too much, he cradles her head in his enormous hands, looking at her with equal parts tenderness and ferocity. “Of course I trust you. Rey, no one has tried to help me like you have. Not even my uncle, not even Lando. You pushed and you pushed to help me. I trust you more than anyone.” 

“Then why?” she asks softly.

He presses his forehead to hers. “Because I was going to give it to you as a Christmas gift. That gold is more than enough for you to buy the inn. You said you loved this place, and I thought...well, if you still wanted to own it…”

She kisses him.

She reaches up to grip his shoulders, anchoring herself as he returns the kiss with that same tenderness and ferocity she had seen in his eyes. He holds her tight against him, almost as if he’s afraid to let her go. He doesn’t need to fear on that count; Rey could lose herself in his touch, can already feel herself melting into him. 

“Jesus,” he whispers when they break apart at last, hot and breathless. “I didn’t know…”

“Didn’t know what?” she pants.

“Didn’t know I could still get hard.”

She can’t help it--she laughs. Red-faced and giddy, she laughs, the sound muffled when Ben kisses her again. 

He very suddenly pulls back, eyes wide. “So, do you? Want to buy the inn, I mean?”

“Of course I do,” she huffs, yanking his collar and bringing his lips to hers again. Of  _ course _ she wants to buy the inn, but it’s very hard to think about anything else when his lips feel so good against hers. 

When they break apart again at last, he says, “Let’s go find that buried gold, then.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys have enjoyed, and have a Merry Christmas!

Rey switches out her heels and silk gloves for snowboots and real winter gloves, and then she takes Ben’s hand and wades through the snow with him.

“Have you ever gone out this far?” she asks, her breath misting in the air.

“Sometimes,” he says, a cloud of mist before him, too. How that happens, Rey doesn’t know. Can you have breath if you’re a ghost? Can your ghost-breath fog up the air? “I only ever got as far as the spot where I buried it; it was like if I tried to go anywhere else, I couldn’t. But I came and checked this morning, so it should still be there.”

They pass through the snowy woods behind the inn, coming to a stop at what looks to Rey like a nondescript oak. There’s a hollow inside it, and when she reaches into it as Ben instructs, her gloved hand closes around coarse fabric. 

“Pull,” Ben urges, and she lifts it up, surprised at the weight behind it. She braces herself against the tree, grunting as she tugs the sack and all its contents up and out of the tree. She drops the burlap sack on the ground immediately, breathing hard. The contents of the bag hit the ground with a heavy  _ thud _ , and when Rey uncovers the ten gold bricks, she lets out a gasp. She’s never seen gold bricks outside of the movies, and these are somehow so much better. Ninety years hidden in a burlap sack in a tree has done little to diminish their color and sheen.

“How much are these worth?” she breathes. 

“They’re twenty-four karat; they were worth a lot in 1929,” he says anxiously. “They should be enough now...shouldn’t they?”

Rey takes off her glove with her teeth and conducts a hasty search on her phone. Her eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

“Is it enough?” he asks, still anxious.

“Ben, they’re worth fifty thousand dollars  _ each _ . This is five hundred  _ thousand _ dollars in front of us! That’s enough to buy the inn outright!”

His shoulders sag in relief. Rey throws her arms around his shoulders, kissing him.

“It’ll be ours,” she breathes when she pulls away. “Yours and mine.”

He touches her cheek. “Sure you want to be business partners with a ghost?”

“Sure you want to give all your gold to some girl with zero managerial experience?”

He smiles. “Well, it’s not like I’m going to use it anytime soon.”

She has to give him that. 

Cold now, and eager to get back to the inn, Rey reaches down and grunts as she hoists the burlap sack into her arms. She’s thinking she ought to carry it on her back when one of the bricks slips out of the burlap. Ben grabs it...and they both stare at each other as realization dawns.

“Can you...can you  _ do _ that?” she asks quietly.

“I shouldn’t be able to.” He stares down at the brick of gold. “I couldn’t do it this morning.”

Rey’s heart is pounding. “Maybe...because you found out who murdered you?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his breathing ragged.

_ His breathing. _

“Ben?”

He looks up, and then turns, swinging his fist at the oak.

“Mother _ fucker _ !” he yelps, shaking his hand. 

“Ben!”

He reaches down, scooping up a handful of snow and throwing it. He lets out a shout of laughter, turning to her with bright eyes. “I can touch things again. I can move them with my hands. Not my mind. My  _ hands. _ ” His breath fogs up in front of him and he points excitedly. “I can  _ breathe _ !” He takes her ungloved hand, pressing it to his chest. “My heart  _ beats _ .”

“You’re…”

“I’m  _ alive. _ ”

Rey stares up at him. “But... _ how _ ?”

His smile is exhilarated. “You. Don’t you understand? You came here to help me move on. And you did. I’m not a ghost anymore, I’m  _ alive. _ ”

She feels dizzy. “But I thought you were going to...cross over, or something.”

“Maybe this  _ is _ crossing over.”

Is that possible? Can people really just stop being dead?  _ If they can become a ghost, why can’t they unbecome one? _

Ben cups her cheeks, his hands cold. “Rey. I want to run the inn with you. I want to spend the rest of my life-- _ my life _ \--with you. If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you, you idiot.” She goes to kiss him, but then pulls back. “On one condition.”

“What?”

She smiles. “We throw a Christmas Eve ball every year.”

He smiles back. “As long as no one tries to shoot us again.”

“Deal.”

.

Ben and Rey burst into the ballroom with red noses, tracking in snow behind them. The guests that haven’t left look up in surprise as Rey and Ben, flushed and grinning, deposit the burlap sack of gold bricks at Amilyn’s feet. 

“Amilyn,” Rey sniffs. “I found a buyer for the inn.”

.

_ One Year Later _

Rey smoothes down her dress, eyeing her reflection. It’s the same dress from last year, but she’s sure no one will care very much, if they notice at all. Last year’s humble party has been traded in for a real ball, the kind Han and Leia used to throw when they owned this place a century ago. Downstairs, she can hear the live band tuning and the events staff setting up; soon their hundreds of guests will appear for the biggest party this town has seen in almost a hundred years. 

An appreciative whistle at the door makes her turn around, smiling. Ben leans against the doorframe, a crooked smile on his face. “You look like a real sheba.”

“Sheba? Is that a good thing?”

“It means a woman you ah...want to do certain things with.”

She grins. “What kinds of things?”

“I think you know what kind.”

“Why don’t you tell me what things?” she teases, wrapping her arms around him. “You can whisper them in my ear, if you like.”

“If I do that, we’ll never make it to the party.”

She sighs, stepping back. “Well? Do I pass?”

“With flying colors.” He holds out his arm. “Come on, Miss Johnson.”

She takes his arm, letting him lead her out of their room and down the mahogany staircase. It’s been one year since they broke the curse, one year since she breathed the life back into Ben, one year since they discovered who killed him and solved the town’s oldest cold case. In that time, Rey moved into the inn, quit her realty job, and, together with Ben, made the inn ready for their first guest. 

In that time, too, she and Ben have grown closer than she ever thought possible; they sleep in the same bed and share their whole lives with each other. He’s seen her sick with the flu, she’s seen him have a meltdown because he couldn’t figure out how to use a smartphone, and they still love each other. It’s only been a year, but already she knows that she never wants to be apart from him...and hopefully, she never has to. She also knows that he’s planning to propose tonight at this, their grand opening, and she is not only going to say yes, but she’s going to insist it happen right here in the fall, when the leaves are changing and the world prepares to make a brand new start. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks as they reach the bottom of the stairs. 

She looks up at him, smiling. “I love you.”

His gaze softens. “I love you too.” He kisses her hand. “More than you know.”

The doorbell rings, and Rey and Ben go to greet their first guest of the evening. 


End file.
